Mets Day 1002: Another day at NIH

Yesterday I spent about 5 hours at NIH. Traffic was light on the drive over, perhaps because school had been canceled due to the bone-numbing cold and -20 degree wind chill. I started with the typical blood draws and urine sample, then had and EKG and met with the anesthesia team, who wanted to assure themselves that all would be well for my surgery on the 20th.

I then had to wait for nearly two hours before I was called for the CT scans of my neck, chest, pelvis, and a separate scan of my urothelium and kidneys. The tech wrapped me in a warm blanket and I almost fell asleep as I passed back an forth through the spinning magnets. I felt the familiar warmth of the contrast as it was injected through my port, spreading though my body in about five heartbeats, and eventually settling in my neobladder. The tech reminded me to drink lots of fluids to flush the contrast from my system.

I didn't have a clinic appointment after the scans, so I did not find out the results. Hopefully, I'll learn that my pulmonary embolisms are no longer detectable; that I have no evidence of clotting in my main hepatic portal or any other veins; that there is no evidence the blood in my urine is due to  cancer in my kidneys; that the tumors in the lymphatic nodes under my left clavicle have not increased in size; and that my liver, lungs and bones show no evidence of metastatic cancer. Realistically, I understand that there is a very high likelihood that at some point one of these scans will detect that my cancer is spreading. But I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

A few days ago, ESPN commentator Stuart Scott died at age 49 from his seven-year battle with cancer. I had read a few articles about his approach, which in many ways was the opposite of mine. He did not want to know any of the details of his diagnosis, staging, treatment, or prognosis. I want to know all of that information. He did not want to stop working, and at times went from chemotherapy to the ESPN set. I tried that early in my treatment, but soon realized that I spending time with family was far more important than spending time at the office. Last July I watched Scott's ESPYS speech and understood his heartfelt sentiment: “When you die it does not mean that you lose to cancer. You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and in the manner in which you live.” 

I am constantly aware that the days of my mortality are limited. I am grateful for each day that I have. Each night, I give thanks to God that my life has been extended another day, and that I have had another day with my loved ones. I try to live each day showing my gratitude, not sweating the small stuff, and finding joy and rejoicing in my posterity.